#i find it so strange how hard john is to read to others like he is just so transparently needy and afraid of abandonment to me

[darklordofthesimp]

Clement (John Price x Reader)

Can be read as a standalone. Part 1 here. 

Summary: John continuously ends up in your medical bay but now it’s his turn to take care of you. 

A/N: These two are my fluffy couple and even that I can’t manage

Category: Mutual Pining || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Graphic Language || Anxiety || Themes of PTSD

“Don’t take this the wrong way, John. But, I really don’t like how much I’ve been seeing you.” 

Captain John Price raised a brow, groaning as he situated himself in his usual seat. The man was soaked in blood, a sight that you’d begrudgingly gotten used to but still hated. He had no right to take offence, he was in your office every other week with varying injuries. The way you saw it, he was in that office more than you were. 

“Kinda hard not to take that the wrong way, darlin’.” He chortled as he readjusted his bad arm, the noise just as pained as it was amused. 

“Saint,” you corrected. 

“Saint,” Price rolled his eyes. 

You sat down in front of him, a huff pulling from your chest as you took him in. There was a long moment as you both stared at each other, silent and almost comical. 

“I’m sick of your shit, Captain.” You gave him a deadpan glare. 

John scoffed, “oh, don’t be like that.” 

“No, seriously ” you threw your hands up, “You owe me a drink.”

Price’s eyes widened in disbelief but you ignored him as you slowly dabbed antiseptic across his wounds. You could feel the muscles beneath your fingers tense as he fought to find the words.

“I’ve been asking you to let me buy you a drink for weeks!” John hissed, his eyes flitting cautiously to the doorway as a nurse walked past. He didn’t want to compromise your professional reputation, no matter how much you drove him crazy. 

You only raised your nose at him, “well, that’s because I don’t mix business and pleasure.” 

“And now is the exception?”

“No, now is the payment for putting up with you and your accident-prone kids’ fuckery.” 

Price laughed, it was full-bodied and warm and something that you could listen to forever. Your hands faltered in their work. Usually, you were steadfast- but John Price always had you on the edge of your seat with a pounding heart and a fuzzy mind. 

“Well, then.” The Captain conceded, relaxing a little more into his chair. “I’d better make it a damn good drink.” 

You hummed your agreement, leaning in closer to get a better look at the wounds on his neck. 

“A damned nice place too,” you said distractedly, “no grubby bars for this one.” 

How did he even manage shit like this? You were so in awe of the strangeness of his injuries, that you hadn’t realized the effect your proximity had on the good Captain. Your words whispered across the skin of his neck and jaw like a gentle caress. The knowledge that he could kiss you right now simply by tilting his head down a little, it drove him insane. 

“Of course not,” he rasped, “I’d take you somewhere fancy. One of them nice cocktail bars, maybe.”

You smiled as you tended to him, your gaze glued to where your hands worked their magic. You couldn’t have seen the way his eyes flickered from your brows to your lashes, and then to your lips. You wouldn’t have noticed the way he clenched his jaw and prayed to anybody who was listening that you weren’t talking shit.

“I’d love that,” you murmured, pulling your touch from his skin to reach for the wound dressings. He craved the warmth immediately. “You’d be in a suit and all.” 

Price chuckled, partly at what you’d said and partly by how distractedly you spoke. 

“Is this all part of your master plan to see me dressed up?” The Captain said jokingly. His heart stopped when you finally flicked your gaze up to his. 

It was at that moment that you realized just how close you sat to him, your mouth going dry at the proximity. You could smell him so clearly as if all your senses had suddenly kicked into overdrive. John always smelt like pine and tobacco. You wondered if it was just his body spray mixed with those damned cigars, but part of you knew it had to be some pheromone that drove you crazy. 

“Funny,” you regained your bearings, leaning back in your seat to observe him. “I was going to accuse you of the same thing.” 

Those ocean-hued eyes sparkled with mirth, roving over your features as if he were committing them to memory. John had a way of seeing beneath all the armour you wore, but somehow it never left you with the sense that you were defenseless. He always made you feel seen but safe. He was comforting. 

“Won’t lie to you, love. I’d give anything to see you all dressed up,” John said honestly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

You raised a brow challengingly but the Captain only watched you, as comfortable as ever and confident in his words. After a long moment of silence, you finally spoke. 

“A lot of these boys would,” you rolled your eyes. “Not exactly invoking confidence here.” 

John straightened in his seat a little. 

“Well that’s the problem, innit?” He said, shooting you a meaningful look. “They’re boys, not men.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, maybe with something smart or clever or anything really that would throw the good Captain off kilter. Instead, you were interrupted by a woman leaning in through your doorway. It was the new nurse that had transferred from another unit only a few days ago.  

“Saint?” She said softly, eyes flicking between John and yourself. “Just wanted to pop in and let you know that this is the last patient on your roster.” 

You smiled, trying to ignore the way that her hand sat precariously on your door handle. The stomach-churning realization that she didn’t know the protocol for your office was making it difficult for you to speak. 

“Awesome, thanks Angie.” You choked out.

As you opened your mouth to remind her to leave the door open, the woman skittered away as fast as she’d appeared. You watched as the door swung shut, anxiety roiling in the pits of your gut. The sound of it clicking closed felt like the final nail in the coffin. 

You took in a deep, calming breath. “Lovely.” 

Price stood up from his seat instantly, resting a hand against your shoulder as he moved to pass you. “Easy love, I got it. You just focus on getting me back into fighting order, yeah?” 

 “Yeah,” you rasped, your fingers shaking as you slowly reached for your stitching kit. The sound of John’s footsteps behind you felt like a hammer in your chest and you tried to fight the urge to swing around and watch him. 

You trusted John. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you and you knew this was just a reaction from your prior experiences. A closed door and a turned back had been a recipe for disaster last time, but this time you were with the good Captain- you were with John. 

There was a long silence from behind you as the door rattled and you tried to ignore the sound, focusing on attempting to thread the string through the eye of the needle. Your hands were trembling far too much for it to be anything but a joke. 

“Saint.” John said from across the room. 

Not love, not darlin’, not even Doc. 

Just Saint. 

You held your breath, swivelling slowly on your stool to face the man behind you. Price stood by the closed door, his expression carefully blank. He had a palm resting on the handle. 

“I need you to take a breath,” he began. “Don’t panic.” 

Too late. 

You said nothing, painfully aware of how dry your throat suddenly felt. Each breath felt like your skin scraped against sandpaper, and with every beat of your heart, it felt like it was only going faster.

John rattled his hand against the door and to your horror, it didn’t budge. 

“Saint,” he raised his other hand with his palm facing outward, an attempt to placate you. It was well and truly too late for small acts of comfort, it was well beyond that point. 

How could they have accidentally locked the door? 

You stumbled off your seat, reminding yourself of the breathing techniques that you had taught both Birdy and Ghost. How could you help them when you couldn’t even help yourself? 

You were a fraud. 

“That’s fine,” you said, sounding anything but fine. “This is fine, we just need to call the nurses on the outside.” 

“Saint.” 

You reached clumsily for your table, the tools and bottles tipped overboard to bounce against the vinyl flooring. You swore beneath your breath, painfully aware of how hot it had suddenly become. Sweat trickled down the length of your spine, prompting your anxiety to run with it. 

You had forgotten what you were even looking for. 

“Saint.” 

You needed to get out of there. You needed to get that door open. You couldn’t be in there, couldn’t be left to the mercy of another soldier. Your heart thrashed wildly in your chest, your ribs aching as they tried to contain it. 

“Saint!” 

The door was closed and there was a man in the room with you. If you showed weakness it would only encourage him to attack, you needed to maintain the facade. You needed to be strong. Your fingers found the scalpel handle on your table. You wouldn’t let it happen again. 

“Saint!” 

You shot up straight, whirling around on the soldier now standing behind you. The instinct to protect yourself overcame any situational awareness that you had, you weren’t going to go through it again. The blade in your hand came down hard, aiming straight for his chest. 

Price caught your wrist instantly, ocean gaze baring deep into yours. 

A desperate noise, something akin to a sob fell from your lips.

“You’re alright, darlin’,” John rasped, sparing a quick glance at the weapon in your hand. “Gonna need you to take a breath with me, yeah?” 

You were sweating but cold, shaking but frozen, all at the same time. 

You were a mess. 

A fraud. 

“Saint,” the Captain ducked his head to meet your dropping gaze, “look at me.”

His fingers came to rest softly against your chin, tipping you up to meet his eyes miserably. You sniffled, tears running rampant down the length of your face and neck. You wanted to sob, you wanted to tear yourself from his grip and beat against the door. 

You weren’t sure whether you were too scared to move or too safe. 

“You’re safe. I’m not gonna let anyone lay a fuckin’ finger on you,” John reassured, genuine and firm in the statement. He wasn’t fucking around, he wasn’t spitting pretty words just to break them. 

John Price was right about one thing, there was a difference between boys and men. 

And there was no way to confuse which one he was. 

“Yeah,” you rasped. It was dry and crackled but it was a sign that you still had some control over yourself. It was a sign that you weren’t going to snap. 

“Yeah?” The Captain smiled. The sight of it put you at ease. The sound of his chuckle comforted you. 

“Yeah.” You reaffirmed, nodding your head this time. 

You were okay and you were safe and it was just a fucking door. 

“Good,” John said, eyes sparkling with mirth. He flicked his eyes upward at where he still held your wrist. “You reckon you could drop your machete then? Fearin’ for my life.” 

You jolted at the realization that you were still holding the scalpel, the blade still pointed directly at the man before you. Your knuckles had gone white from how hard you’d been gripping it. 

You sucked in a deep breath, dropping it as if it had burnt you. Price hummed consolingly as you stared up at him with wide and teary eyes. 

“Im sorry-“

“Don’t.” John warned gently, releasing your wrist. “Don’t apologize for defendin’ yourself.”

You closed your mouth and offered him a shaky nod. You needed him closer, you needed comfort and for once that didn’t involve you craving isolation. Usually, you wanted nothing to do with people when you were like this. Now, your fingers itched to touch him. 

The Captain rocked back on his heels a little, observing you from beneath his lashes.

“You alright?” He asked. His hands moved to touch your elbow but he paused halfway, as if he thought better of it. You watched as they dropped, wishing that he’d just done it. 

“Could be better,” you said honestly. “Could use a drink.” 

Price laughed, short and sharp. His fingers flexed. 

There was a long silence as you both took each other in. You wanted to say something, literally anything. You could slip in one of your dry jokes or maybe ask him to sit back down as you searched for your phone. 

Instead, you found yourself watching him, enjoying the visage of the Captain behind the lense of a new perspective. 

And he was watching you right back. 

His hands moved again, this time slow and with intent. John was giving you the option to move away, giving you the time to reject his touch. Some part of you tried to remind you that you should be afraid, that you were alone in a room all over again. But there was no reason to be afraid of this man, he was not some broken soldier- he was the master of his own ship. He was the Captain. 

He was John Price.

When his fingers came to rest on your arms, goosebumps rose across the places that his warmth trailed. 

“Let me take you out,” he whispered, so close you could taste the words. “Let me get you a drink, Saint.” 

Again, the intentional use of your call sign. The name that you had given him but he’d refused to use up until today.

“John-“ you hesitated, shifting where you stood.

You wanted nothing more. However, your thoughts had a way of running away from you, taking your fears and experiences and sprinting from where you stood. You knew he was a good man, but at the end of the day military men had a stigma for good reason. 

What if he would fuck you over in the end?

What if he didn’t come home?

“I know what you’re thinking,” John spoke, stepping closer. “I know where that brilliant fuckin’ mind of yours is going and I want to stop you right there.” 

You snorted softly. “You don’t know what I’m thinking, Captain.” 

His palms settled against your biceps, fingers enclosing around your skin. You could feel his thumbs rub into your arms, as though he was grounding himself as he spoke. 

“I do. You’re thinkin’ about me doing wrong by you. You’re thinking I’m full of hot air and pretty words and all that shit.” John rattled off, shaking his head as he spoke. “You’re thinking ‘bout what happens if one day I don’t make it.”

Your breath caught in your throat. 

“Well,” his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that you’d never seen. “I’m not here to play games. What you see is what you get and if I have you to come home to, I promise not even God could take me.” 

John’s breath was shaky at best as he scanned your features. It was nerve wracking to put yourself out there but it spun you out trying to process what he’d just said. Everything in you wanted to kiss him the second he’d finished his sentence.

You swayed on your feet, mouth opening and closing as you tried to muster a response. Your heart beat against your chest, trying to escape its prison and run right into John’s grasp. 

“Okay.” You said.

You wanted to die. The man had said the most romantic thing you’d heard since you’d binge watched Bridgerton, and all you had was one word. The most unenthusiastic word, mind you.

But, in true John Price spirit, the man only laughed. Full bodied and victorious. 

“Okay?” He sought confirmation with the biggest smile you’d seen from him in months. 

“Okay.” 

You wanted nothing more than him. 

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Killer to Lovers

Toxic!Psychopath!JJ Maybank x Fem!reader

Warnings: Extremely toxic and *murderous* JJ, penetration, fingering

Plot: Watching you from a distance, bloodthirsty Jay Maybank can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have you as his.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Obsessed with the idea of a possessive/insane JJ recently- Hope it sounds as good on paper as it did in my head!

JJ Maybank had always been a mystery to you. Whether he be sitting in the corner, shrouded by shadows smoking weed and watching you and the Pogues intently, or twirling a suspicious knife or gun in his hand, he had always been different than the others.

You heard your parents warn you about him. “That boy is no good!” “You shouldn’t be hanging out around him! He could be dangerous!” The truth was, these scoldings wouldn’t bother you so much if you didn’t think they might be true.

Sure, he had never been exactly mean to you. Although he always seemed to have a strange, almost malicious glint in his eyes whenever he looked at you, any conversations between the two of you were friendly. You would joke around with him, John B, Pope, Kiara, and Sarah, and during those times there was no doubt that he was a Pogue.

But you never failed to miss the questionable red splatters on his clothing on multiple occasions, that always came with the news reports of missing people popping up all over Kildare County.

Yes, Jay Maybank wasn’t someone you should trust. But it was the other things about him that made it impossible for you to stay away. Maybe it was the dark circles around his eyes or the way he would swipe his tongue over his lips, but every time you were near him it was like you were in a trance, his presence warping around you and begging you to come closer.

For you, JJ was like a magnet. He was… and you didn’t know how else to describe it… intoxicating. You never imagined that he could feel any the same. 

It happened one night, when the moon was high in the dark sky, and you were huddled in the back of a building, crying. It was one of those times when the pains, losses, and heartbreaks of your life had finally gotten to you, and the tears were flowing down your face in cascading waves.

You had your face in your hands when you heard a familiar husky, drawling voice from directly next to you.

“And what is a lady like you doing out here so late?” You looked up in surprise to see JJ leaning against the wall facing you, his arms crossed and his head lolling slightly to the side.

“H- how did you find me?” you gasped, moving to wipe the tears from your eyes. Instead, JJ blocked your hand and trailed his forefinger across your cheek slowly. You freezed at his touch.

“I suppose I just can’t keep away from you.” He said lowly. Your despair forgotten, you raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

JJ’s deep blue eyes penetrated your own. “I’ve been watching you for a long time.” A shiver crawled up your spine as his finger moved across your chest gently. Even through the fabric, you could feel how cold it was. “You’re like a magnet to me. An addicting substance that I can’t seem to resist.”

Shock rippled through your body. How could he know you felt the exact same way about him? It was like he could read your mind. “I feel the same way, Jay,” you said softly.

“Good,” he purred. Before you knew what’s happening, he pulled the straps of your top and bra down your shoulders, letting them fall to your knees alongside your shorts.

Then he took off his own garments, keeping his eyes on you as you watched his muscled chest and hard shaft be uncovered.

Fully exposed in the moonlight, you saw his eyes darken further will hunger as he looked at you. How did this relationship get to this point? And this fast? You didn’t have time to think, as JJ was sucking down on your breasts, possessively taking the tips in his mouth one at a time and making you throw your head back. At the same time he slipped his fingers inside your pussy, already wet with your lubrication, pushing them in and out.

Your mind spun as you tried to comprehend the amount of pleasure coming from both places at once. You never imagined JJ’s fingers, or mouth, would feel this good. You twisted against the wall as he picked up his pace down below, relentlessly toying with your clit.

“Stay still, baby,” he growled, and you tried to contain yourself as you’re pushed closer to your climax. You buried your hands into his hair as you reached your edge.

And suddenly, instead of his fingers, his cock is slipping inside you, making you moan at his size and force. JJ moaned, too, murmuring “How can someone feel this good?”

He fucked you aggressively, more rough and merciless than any guy you’ve ever known. The sensations he was giving you were almost more than you can handle, and a second orgasm cracked through you in no time at all. Somehow he knew precisely the right spots to hit, how to make you bend to his will. He was manipulative. Cruel. Greedy. And you loved it.

When he finally came inside of you, it was like heaven with a mixture of hell had been opened. There was only the two of you together, interlocked and soaking up the intoxicating effect you both had on each other.

When he finally pulled out, his breath was hot on your face and he leaned in menacingly. “Do you want to be mine, gorgeous?”

You nodded, closing your eyes. “Yes. I want to be yours. Forever.”

“I want to hear it again. Are you mine?” He snarled, brushing up against your ear.

“Yes, Jay. I’m yours and yours only.” The vows escaped your mouth instantly and you knew there was no escaping the hold he had on you.

He took the skin of your neck between his lips and pulled it taut, marking you as his own. He began to walk away, turning his head towards you one last time. “I’ll see you again soon.” Then he was gone, disappearing back into the shadows.

You were left standing against the wall, mind torn in different directions. One part of your mind screamed What the hell did you just do? And filled with dread that this is wrong. Wondered what your parents will say. The other half of your mind told you This was meant to happen. The feral need for him that overrode all else. You needed him, and that’s all you knew.

You saw him again the next morning, hanging outside with the Pogues. You felt his gaze scorching you the whole time. When you met his eyes, a smirk played at the corner of his lips. 

When you go to your house that night and he fucked you into your own mattress, he hissed “Your parents never have to find out about this. This can be just between the two of us.” And you could only nod in response. You were willing to lie to your own parents to keep him.

Jay got into the habit of sneaking into your room in the evenings, much to your dismay. You couldn’t risk being heard. You never told him to leave either. So quiet moans and hisses could be heard from your house as JJ buried his face between your legs.

When your friends found out about the relationship, they were a bit taken aback, but soon decided it was cute. They always said JJ was “tough and reserved”, so they found it adorable that he finally found a girl. What they didn’t know, though, was how far he was willing to go to protect you.

Jay was somewhat surprised himself. He had fucked several girls before, consensually, but you were different. At first he convinced himself that it was only for his own benefit, to satisfy his lust, but over time he realized that there was something more. He had always considered love a burden, something meaningless and childish. It could have been the way your featured lit up whenever you laughed, or the sweet and soothing pressure of your lips. But he knew, deep down, that he had grown to love you.

That was why, whenever another guy got close to you, the rage Jay felt was enough to want to kill them. Slit their throats in an alleyway, leave a drop of poison in their drinks. Just to make sure you were never stolen from him.

And of course there were the times when he imagined sinking the blade of a knife into your tender, perfect skin, to see your enticing blood drip down your body. There was something that stopped him, though. Maybe it was because he knew he couldn’t live without you, but he managed to restrain himself for the time being.

You sensed this desire, whenever you two kissed. You also sensed the possessiveness radiating from him as he trapped you in his arms. There was something alluring about it. How you knew he would kill for you.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 3.2

The thing is Paul just physically can't say what he feels. It's just an impossibility for him. So if he says reading a negative article about himself “doesn't help” or “it's not good” but it “doesn't get home” I just assume he means ���It hurts, but I can't think about that too hard or I'll go into a self-hate suicidal spiral again’. 

I always love how Paul says Linda. “Linder is er, nature mad.” 

She!!

Hearing Paul talk about watching Mary be born makes me wonder if John was there with Sean? Also I wonder if Linda would talk about the experience so glowingly. Probably. She's tough as nails. I had a lovely experience, personally, after the epidural lol

“Dear friend . . . I'm in love with a friend of mine.” This is such a strange and beautiful song. It's a man who has to apologize to his friend for falling in love with someone else. At least, that's my interpretation. What's everyone else's?

I understand why he's so closed off. I do. But when John is going off every five seconds, we're missing half the picture here and it's turning out warped. They really are such a good study of attachment honestly.

“Nothing will ever break the love we have for each other.” White-knuckling my way through this section with this quote clenched in my fist.

Yoko, talking about John fighting with Paul: any couple will go from swearing to kissing and it's like that. What favors are you doing yourself here, babe? Maybe John's the PR mastermind between the two of them.

I find John's comparison of working with his romantic partner to being ambidextrous very confusing. Does he mean just doing two things at once?

“If I can't have a fight with my best friend, I don't know who I can have a fight with.” -- Intro slutty gender-fluid Wings Paul my beloved -- “Tell me why, why, why do you treat me so bad? So bad? When you're the best friend a man ever had?” I heard on some podcast somewhere. Someone was going on about how forward-thinking the Beatles were to refer to the women in their songs as “friends”. And I was like, nununununu do not give them that credit.

This is just soooo. In this era? 90 minutes in the middle of a recording session?

John: Sorry, my estranged fiance is calling, gotta take a break. Guitarist: again? Drummer: how estranged can they be if they call every three minutes? Yoko: should we just record the other parts or . . . John: (receiver cradled to his cheek, lovesick grin on his face) Hey, how was Heather's school program? Haha, yeah, I bet she was.

Okay, so you've made up with Paul and now you're done being homophobic? *Cardi b voice* well that's suspicious. 

The fact that John's asking Paul to play on stage with him in 1972?? Ugh! If it was just about legalities and money and shit I would be genuinely so pissed at Paul for not going. If only because Come Together sounds incredibly lame without his bass and piano. But also for the obvious fix-it reasons. I have to remind myself of how truly awful Klein was. By being the only one to stand firm against him, Paul actually ended up saving them all from a lot of trouble. But gosh would this have been good!

Things normal people say, for sure, for sure.

Okay in my head it went like this. John calls George and bitches about what an egomaniac Paul is because he won't do anything with him as long as Klein is involved. George gets off the phone and calls Ringo and they make a bet as to how long it is until John decides they should get rid of Klein. 

“Where's your audience, Paul?” “In the theater, Dave.” As he should. The cuntiness is unparalleled. Yeah, maybe people like to see a family friendly eclectic magic pixie sexy hard rock floor show? Ever thought about that, Dave?

Anyway, he seems genuinely pissed when the interviewer even mentions the other Beatles and he refuses to even admit he still talks to any of them. Why? 

John's just so benevolent and selfless. He's completely straight, of course, but he's always offering to do gay shit. You know. To be nice. 

I forget that not only was May their literal employee, but she was ten years younger on top of that. And yet, she managed to do so much good in that relationship. I have so much respect for her. 

There's obviously a lot going on behind the scenes that they don't say in interviews. Duh. But I wonder what it is that caused Paul to be so open and happy in this interview where he's asked about the other Beatles compared to before. I wonder if he and John had a really lovely talk, or if he's heard a demo of “I know, I know.” Or maybe it's just he's so reassured that they've got rid of Klein that he feels safe acting open to a reunion on record. Who knows, Yoko. 

So so smart to pair “In My Life” handwritten lyrics with the matching lyrics of “I know I know” playing at the same time. I forget about that connection (“I love you more”) because it's so overshadowed by the “than yesterday” right after. I seriously wonder if John thought he was being so obvious with this one the way he was with HDYS and half hoped people would ask him if it was about Paul and he could make up for the whole thing. Because it's just so heavy-handed. It's beautiful. I love it. I'm sure Paul loved it. But yeah. John's just beating us over the head with the references here. 

I also wonder (very tentatively!!!) if Paul was maybe a bit more emotionally vulnerable with John than we usually think. I would never think this except for the “you know I nearly broke down and cried” “I'm sorry that I made you cry” and “no more crying!” I don't know. What do we think? 

His little baby smirk. It's so silly and cute. He's being very positive about getting back together, and the interviewer asks if John would initiate that. Just a very coy, “a, well, I couldn't say.” I wonder if at that point if he'd said on live tv that he wanted to get together again if it would've happened. Seems like it might have, but I understand him being scared. 

Elton John taking pictures like a fan and John: I wanna impound all those photos till I get me green card. What a random idea for a commercial. I love it, obviously, it's hilarious. I wonder who thought of it. 

This doc is so good at implication. The smirk as “loving in the palm of my hand” plays. That's not a reference to hand jobs, is it? Certainly not talking to someone with beautiful hands?

Everyone go look up Nineteen Hundred Eighty Five on YouTube. The singing sex is something else, yeah, but I'm always so blown away by the piano part. The fact that he's self taught and doesn't read music and this man will go on to compose symphonies. 

[midnighmoonligh]

Can you maybe write Ghost + Child Regressor Reader who had an accident and got scared that Ghost would get angry or be disgusted? :3 You're one of the only people who write COD with a regressor reader and I love it!! 🩷

A/N

Ironically I had just been finishing up a oneshot book I made with this concept! This is just a chapter of it 🫶. If you want to read more I have the entire store post on wattpad here! Hope you enjoy overall and thank you for your request!

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Fandom

Call of Duty

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Characters

Y/N ; 17 ; Gender Neutral ;; They/Them ; little

Simon " Ghost " Riley ; 31 ; He/Him ; CG

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⚠Content Warnings⚠

Violence, War stuff, COD yk. Potty accident & internally shaming of self!

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A sudden anxious urge washed over you. You tossed and turned over the covers you had not put on yourself. You were trying to go back to sleep, but instead found yourself awake anyway. With a huff, your eyes finally peeled open. You looked out the window to your left, enjoying how pretty the moon looked tonight with the way the snowy clouds dropped layer after layer. The window seal was covered in snow, making it pile up on the sides to reach higher. You found it pretty, peaceful.

Until you felt it.

You felt a strange wetness, almost coldness too. Well, it was warm in some spots cold in others. When you shifted, the jeans you had fallen asleep in stuck to you. You froze in place at it.

The seconds ticked by as you began to process what happened. The anxiety you had felt when you were refusing to wake before hit you like a train when it had clicked. It was suffocating, quickly becoming hard to breathe as you process how embarrassing it was.

You had wet the bed.

You've never done that before, genuinely. You didn't understand what had happened and god you rather shrivel up and die than really acknowledge what had happened. You suddenly sat up in the bed, eyes darting across the room. First, they focused onto the alarm clock placed on the suspiciously chewed up night stand. The clock read 3:48 am. It was really early, or late depending on your standards.

Then your eyes fell onto Johnny and Simon. Both were now settled into the air mattress on the floor. You've never actually seen them sleeping together, so it was a bit of a shock to find Simon without his mask and laying on his side toward the door. John was also on his side, but pressed against his larger partners back with an arm tossed over his side in a loose hold. They had about four or five blankets tossed on then, most leaning toward the larger man in the bed.

You shook that shock from your mind since you confirmed that they were asleep still. With a shaking body, you began to rip off the sheets from the bed, tossing the blankets onto the floor at the foot of the bed since that was the only space free. You grabbed a spare pair of pants and underwear before scrambling out of the room. You'd worry about searching for new sheets later. For now, you went around as quiet as physically possible searching for the laundry room. You found it on the main floor, in the hallway under the upstairs. It was a small space, had a door too.

When entering, you closed it and turned the lights on. The sudden brightness made you flinched, but with the tears quickly filling your eyes you needed it to see better. You tossed the bedding onto the floor, the clean clothes on the surface of the dryer. Then you opened up the washer, happy to see it empty. With that being confirmed, you began to stuff the bedding into it. You were clumsy, feeling that fuzzy headspace wash over you as you berated yourself in your mind. Insult after insult, you didn't hold back on yourself. You couldn't believe you had done this. It was definitely a new one for the books, one you hoped to take the secret of it to your grave.

Suddenly, the laundry room door opened.

" What are you doing? " Simon's exhausted voice rumbled out from deep within in chest.

It scared you, making you visibly jump. He had caught you mid struggling to shove the thick sheets into the machine. You were quickly loosing your usual motor skills as you fell further into that, normally, comforting headspace.

" Um- I, uh, spilled somethin, " you told Simon awkwardly while trying to shove the bedding harder into the washer.

Ghost's expression was a mix of exhaustion and irritation as he observed the mess in front of him. It was evident that Ghost was already in a bad mood, and your little accident likely added to that.

" What the hell did you spill? " He sighed, moving closer to you and reaching out to take the sheets from your trembling hands.

You flinched as the bedding was taken from your shaking hands. You sniffled as quietly as you could manage while stepping back. Now you knew it was a matter of time before Simon smelled it. You stared at the floor in shame. The anxiety of the fact of what had happened hammering through you harshly. You've never done it before, it scared you.

" Don't remember, " you mumbled.

Simon's frustration was palpable, and as he picked up the damp bedding, his expression darkened. The smell of the accident clung to the sheets, and while not the most pleasant, he has endured far worse on the battlefield.

" Bloody hell, " he muttered as he looked down at the sheets in his hand before giving them a rough twist and shoving them into the washer. " I hope this was a one-off, " he said gruffly as he reached over and turned the washing machine on.

You continued to stare at the floor of the laundry room. You still wore soiled pants, tears spilling over uncontrollably while you wished you could just sink into the ground and completely disappear from shame. You didn't reply to Simon, deciding it was likely better not to.

Simon made sure the washer door closed properly before turning it on. Then he turned around and saw the tear stains on your face. His annoyance softened slightly, replaced by a mixture of surprise and concern. He crouched down to be more on your level, knowing it tended to comfort you when agere-related things happened.

" Hey," he placed a hand on your shoulder, "look at me, " he requested as gently as he could manage. It helped you realize his frustration was more at being awake, not directed toward you. Although it ate at you, you did lift your head for him. You blinked heavily at him so you could see him clearly. This caused your tears to practically pour.

" You know this is not your fault, right? Even the big boys have accidents sometimes, it's part of life. I'm not mad about the sheets, just... just be careful in the future, okay? "

Shock quickly washed over you. He was comforting you, not scolding you? It was gross what you had done, yet he was being so patient and sweet. You didn't deserve this, at least that's what you had convinced yourself. Despite what you told yourself, you did deserve this. You deserved every ounce of his love and affection.

" 'm sorry, " you mumbled up, raising your arms up to wipe your face even if it wasn't worth the effort. The words seemed to make you crumble. " Don know what happened, " you hiccuped as you began to cry freely at last.

Seeing you break down, Simon sighed and pulled you in for a hug. He held you tightly. It didn't feel right or fair, especially when you were still wearing gross clothes. It made you feel more guilty as much as you wanted the comfort.

" Don't apologize, it's okay, " he mumbled against your shoulder and slowly rubbed your back in soothing circles. " Sometimes these accidents happen and no one's to blame, " he said with a softer tone as he tried to soothe you. " Let's get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes, yeah? "

" 'm gross, " you whined quietly, squirming in Simon's hold to get away from the hug. " 'm sorry, " you added, soon hiccuping out a sob.

Simon sighed, his annoyance returning as he tightened his hold. He wasn't as patient as John, unfortunately for you both.

" You're not gross. You just had an accident, it happens to everyone," he said firmly, hoping it would get through to you this time. "Now let's get you cleaned up, silly bug. "

With that said, he picked you up in a strong but gentle grip. Being picked up us 100% you're weakness, something you had found our several months ago. Mostly because Johnny absolutely loved carrying you around. In his arms, you slumped against him and calmed your crying faster than you'd care to admit. You buried your face into a mixture of his shoulder and chest, your favorite spot. Simon had turned off the laundry room light before leaving. He was quiet as he walked through the hallway, only a few steps before pushing obathroom downstairs bathroom door. He continued to hold you as he pulled the shower curtain closed and turned on the water. While standing there, he tested the water to make sure it didn't get too hot or cold.

It made you nervous, hoping that no one would be woken by the sound. The last thing you wanted to explain was your regression to John's family, let alone the fact you had an accident in the bed as a, now, 17-year-old. You didn't even want to tell Johnny.

Simon seemed to pick up on your nerves and spoke up, " Don't worry, Johnny's a deep sleeper and the others usually mind their own business. The shower won't disturb them," he said as he gently set you onto your feet. " Do you want help? "

You nodded without missing a beat. Both pair always made sure to ask, which helped in general. Even if sometimes the asking for permission to do something got a little out of hand. Without missing a beat, Simon began to help you out of your pants. He's become a pro at helping you with closed eyes too. You held onto his forearms for support while doing your part to get them off.

He knew how vulnerable you were feeling, so he spoke softly to soothe your nerves. " You're okay, " he repeated as he helped you step into the shower, clothes now disguarded safely. " Let's get you cleaned up, alright? You'll feel much better once you're clean. "

You hiccuped quietly and sniffled as you pulled the curtain of the shower closed. Simon waited patiently outside the shower, likely standing half leaning against the bathroom sink like he usually did at home. You did your best to bathe yourself, but you kept dropping the soap bottles and just about everything you tried to hold. The sound of it hitting the tile floor kept making your flinch. You felt so little, making it hard to control this bigger body of yours.

" It's okay, take your time, " Simon spoke up from the other side of the curtain, " You're doing great. "

The praise helped you. You sniffled and did your best. Somehow, you managed to not drop stuff as much. It did still happen, just not as frequently. When you finally finished, you turned off the water and peeked out from the curtain.

" Towel? " you mumbled quietly.

Simon's expression softened as he saw your clean face peeking out from behind the shower curtain. " Yeah, " he said gently, stepping closer to the shower and handing you a soft white towel. " All clean, eh? Good job. "

He remained nearby as you dried off, making sure you were comfortable and giving you a small smile of reassurance.

You to on the towel when it was offered, soon disappearing back behind the curtain to dry off. When you felt you were finished, you wrapped the fluffy towel around yourself then carefully got out of the shower. It wasn't an easy task, barely trusting yourself to not slip right now. However, with Simon keeping an eye on you, you didn't feel as anxious about it. You stood in the bathroom, shivering now from how cold you were without the warm water.

Simon looked around before spotting a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It had one of John's sister's names on it, so he just grabbed it and plopped it onto you.

" Here, use this for now. "

" is okay? " you whispered as you wiggled around a bit to tie it in place and free yourself of the towel. It was big on you, not that you minded. Though you quickly noticed the ducks on it in a few spots. It made you giggle, so you showed him too.

" Oh that's cute, " Simon told you with a nod. He may not have agreed, but you didn't really care that much. " And yes it's okay, we're just borrowing it. "

You nodded slowly at that information. Taking his offered hand, he lead you all the way upstairs and back to John's childhood room. Much to your surprise, he was awake and laying on the air mattress, just on his phone. He blinked a few times when he noticed you two come in. First you, then Simon. He made sure to shut the door behind you two.

" Everything okay? " Johnny asked, quietly and gently.

You only nodded, looking to Simon who did the same. He didn't say a word. That much made you feel relieved and genuinely cared for.

" I noticed the sheets on the bed were gone, so I put a fresh pair on, " John told them while turning his attention back to his phone.

Nothing was added nor asked. It relieved you. Simon shuffled with you to the foot of both the beds, where there was a lot more space to comfortably stand.

" Anything you want to wear in particular? " he asked as he tugged open a drawer of the dresser in the closet. You quickly noticed the same, probably bite marks, all over the wooden furniture.

" 'm dunno, " you mumbled as you lifted your hand, soon chewing on your fingers. You just felt the need to have something to chew on.

" Hmmm, " Simon hummed as he shuffled through the clothes. " How about some sweatpants? I'll let you wear one of my shirts if you want. "

You paused your chewing to blink at you, even catching John look up from his phone in the corner of your eye. It had surprised you both. Simon was not a big clothes sharer, well willingly.

" Really? " you asked, sounding a tad more excited than you had meant to.

" Sure, why not, " he shrugged.

" kay! " you agreed, nodding your head and even bouncing a little.

It made him smile. In return you found yourself smiling too.

After getting dressed, with some help too, you ended up snuggling into the air mattress with Simon and Johnny. You were squished between them, though comfortably. John was still on his phone, smiling contently while he did whatever it was he was doing.

" Comfortable? " Simon has asked, getting you to look at him. You nodded after, moving to your side to face him then cuddling into his chest. He pulled one of the blankets to be around you better. " Good, " he sighed contently.

" Just relax now, we've got you, " he whispered before yawning and settling down himself.

You gently tugged on his shirt, making him look down at you. He looked barely awake, yet he still wanted to make sure you had everything yih needed.

" 'm wan 'm paci, " you mumbled you him, moving to chew on your thumb to emphasize what you wanted. He frowned.

" Not sure we packed it kiddo, sorry, " he told you sadly, hand rubbing your back.

You shook your head, shifting a little to your back to point to your backpack still settled in front of the nightstand.

" You packed it? " Simon questioned with surprise peeking on his tone.

" Mhm, " you admitted shyly. Yet, he was clearly proud of you with the way he squeezed you into a hug. Then he pulled out a spare pillow and smacked John with it.

" What on EARTH-" John yelped louder than he really should've.

" Y/N's pacifier is in their bag right next to your head. "

" Oh. "

John turned over to face where the bag was, tugging it over then shuffling through it. Soon, he turned over to face you both, showing off the prized pacifier he had fished out. You rolled to your back, opening your mouth for him to nicely place it in. Happily, you chewed on it. You didn't really move from there, clearly soothing yourself into such a sleepy state it was hard to move.

" So sweet, " the scot cooed as he shuffled over. He brushed some of your hair from your face, then snuggled up to you and Simon.

Judging by how quiet the older of you three are being, you figure he fell asleep at last.

" Better not kick in your sleep, " the younger man teased you. You huffed at him playfully, making him smile wider. " Okay okay, try to get a bit more sleep. Sure we'll all be up in a few more hours if you can't, " he told you, soon yawning too.

You caught the yawn, making him absolutely beam. He laid his arm over you, just above where Simon's was. Soon after, you were both falling back asleep together.

[writingwhatiwanttoread]

Help! I've Landed in a Fanfiction

Pairing: fem!OC x Justice League

Genre: OC insert, Soulmate AU, Isekai, Reverse Harem

Characters: OC, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, John Constantine, and other DC characters as the story progresses

Warnings: all warnings not tagged, suicidal ideation, domestic violence, general violence and dark, 18+ themes, read at your own risk

Summary: Katie Smith wakes up in a new world, one out of comic books and ridiculously cheesy tropes. All she wants to do is find her way back home, but no one is helping her. Worst of all, they claim to be her soulmates. Surely it's all dream. How can she make herself wake up?

Chapter 1 (This One)

Chapter 2

Chapter One: This Bald Guy is Seriously Creepy

Katie woke up sore and freezing. The soreness was nothing new, of course, but instead of her weighted blanket and soft mattress, the floor under her was hard and chilly. Goosebumps trailed up and down her arms. Groaning, she sat up, keeping her eyes closed to stave off the headache that was forming at her temple. God, I feel so hungover. Given that Katie hadn't touched alcohol since college, however, she shook that thought from her head.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in a small, empty room. There was a large mirror in front of her, spanning the length of the wall. The other three walls were made of cinder block, and she didn't see a door. It looked like a bastardized version of a police holding cell (she had bailed Matt out enough to know that space intimately), but there was no furniture. Shakily getting to her feet, she examined herself in the mirror.

Her hair was messy, and her pajama shorts did nothing to hide the cellulite on her thighs or the outline of her stomach. She cringed as she noticed her plain gray shirt riding up. She pulled it down and stepped closer to the mirror. Her black eye was fading (small mercies) but the wrinkles around her eyes didn't do anything to make her feel better about herself. Matthew would've commented on her ability to make herself look unattractive even in her sleep, and she felt a strong wave of shame come over her. She was about to turn away from the strange mirror when a shock of color visible on her shoulder stopped her. She pulled down her collar to investigate.

A large circle of dark green vines looked to be tattooed on her left shoulder, trailing from her collar bone to above her heart. In the middle were five smaller intersecting circles, golden yellow and almost sparkling. There was a small outline of a dove in the middle, in the same color green as the vines. She was mesmerized. It almost seemed to throb with her heartbeat. She was about to touch it when she shook herself out of her trance. Where was she?

An intercom buzzed overhead. Katie looked up but didn't see a speaker anywhere. She tried not to flinch. A deep, rich voice filled the space.

"I've been waiting all day for you to wake up, my dear. Unfortunately, I can't be there right now to give you a proper welcome."

Katie counted to ten in her head. She heard somewhere that you could get out of dreams that way and was anxious to try it. The voice sounded friendly, but in a dangerous way. She was well-acquainted with that tone and wondered why her brain would dredge it up here, especially since this week Matthew would be gone on a work trip and she was relatively safe. When nothing happened, Katie cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Um. I. I am confused?" She said timidly, lilting her voice into a question at the end.

"Of course, my rules are simple." The voice ignored Katie. She wondered it it was a recording. "Follow my directions and get privileges. Disobey and you will be more uncomfortable than you find yourself now."

"Where am I?"

The lights plunged into darkness and a screen was projected onto the mirror. A tall man in a bespoke suit appeared on the screen. He was sitting behind a desk, holding a scotch in one hand and tapping his other hand on his desktop as if he were already bored with the conversation. He was bald, but looked to be around Katie's age, if not a little older.

"There you are. I imagine you are confused but I don't have the time to explain everything. Rest assured, you will want to listen to me and listen closely. You are under my jurisdiction right now. You will do nothing without my permission. You will eat when I say, sleep when I say, and shit when I say."

"This has got to be a dream." Katie said absently, touching the mirror, wondering at her own imagination. It was the most vivid thing she had ever experienced.

"Are you listening to me?" The man cleared his throat, annoyed.

"Who are you?" Katie tilted her head.

He rolled his eyes. "You can call me Sir."

Katie snorted.

"You find that funny?"

"I mean, that's such a cheesy line. You realize that right?" Katie was still walking around the small cell, trying to find the door with her fingers.

"Look at me." Katie did flinch here, and cursed her dream-self for having the same reaction to a stern dream-voice as she did to a stern-real-world voice.

"I do not have time for this. All you need to know is I brought you here and I can keep you here."

"Mkay. You might want to chill on the villain talk. You sound like a movie character. I'm not calling you Sir, by the way." That's the thing about dreams, Katie thought. Bravery was a lot easier when everything was fake.

"I'll give you time to rethink that then." With that the video popped off and the room was filled with darkness. Katie couldn't see her hand in front of her face, and after bumping into the wall, she decided to sit down. She squeezed her eyes tightly and tried to transport herself to a dream-cabin or dream-beach. Surely she could imagine Hawaii. Instead of feeling the warm sand between her toes, however, all she felt was cold. It was like the room dipped even lower in temperature. She shivered and huddled in a corner. The darkness was oppressive--the silence was too. Her stomach grumbled, and she held it, eventually curling into a ball. She couldn't gauge the time but it felt like hours. She fell into a restless sleep, her last thought wondering if sleeping in a dream was going to send her into an Inception like trance. She laughed to herself, and hoped when she woke up she could forget everything and take a warm bath.

----

Katie woke up, a little warmer, still hungry, and unfortunately not back in her bedroom. She was no longer in the weird cell, but instead tied to a chair. Her gray shirt had been removed, leaving her in her bra and pajama shorts. Her wrists ached with the bindings and her glasses were slipping down her nose. She tried to push them up with her shoulder but couldn't move much.

She was in a large office. There was a window that spanned the floor to the ceiling and she could tell that she was high up, as the only thing visible was clouds and the tops of buildings.

A clearing of a throat let her know she wasn't alone. Katie groaned.

"You again?" The bald man looked affronted.

She felt at her bindings, again surprised that everything was so vivid. It really hurt and she had never thought being asleep could feel so real. She was rethinking her initial hypothesis. Hadn't recovered coma patients talked about feeling sensations in their unconsciousness?

"I realize I was remiss in not introducing myself the other day. So let's start over. Your name is?"

Katie looked incredulously at the man. "Katherine." She spit out.

"Katherine." He sneered. "I am Lex Luthor," he said self-importantly.

Ok then, back to her original hypothesis. Definitely a dream. Katie barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, right. And I'm Batman." She growled mockingly. "Honestly."

The man stepped closer. It's not like Katie was unaware of the comic books and movies, but she had never had time to really dive in. She was too busy managing Matt's schedule and making sure everything was perfect at home. The last time Katie picked up one of his collectibles to dust, she found herself with a lot more than a black eye. It wasn't really something she was interested in anymore. But she knew of Lex Luthor. He kind of looked like she would have imagined him looking, which made sense she guessed, if her brain was making it all up.

He trailed his fingers on her shoulder, tracing the weird design on her chest from her collarbone to just above her bra. She shivered in revulsion but the way she was tied to the chair didn't allow her much movement.

"Interesting." He hummed. "Have you heard of me?"

She looked him in the eyes and then looked away quickly as he smirked at her. "I mean, yeah? Comic book character, Lex Luthor. Superman's nemesis, right? I mean, I've never really read them or anything, but I saw Smallville once."

He was staring at her like a bug under a microscope. "Mm. What else do you know about me?"

Katie quirked an eyebrow. "I am confused."

"I expected that. You don't seem like a particularly bright woman. Definitely plain looking, overweight, extremely unremarkable. It's fascinating, isn't it?"

It's not like any of that was something Katie didn't think about herself daily, but she still felt a bit betrayed by her brain.

"What is?" She bit out.

"That you were chosen out of all the people in your world. That you were the one the whole universe decided upon. It's a shame. I'm sure there were so many more worthy than you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know me as a character, darling? Tell me. How many people lived in your world?"

"My world? What are you talking about?"

"The global population. Try to keep up."

Katie was confused at what that could mean or why he was asking. She decided to play along since last time ended with her in a cold cell for hours.

"I don't know. Over 7 billion."

"Over 7 billion." He purred, practically petting the weird tattoo on her chest. "How does it feel to know that 7 billion people were sacrificed for the unimpressive specimen you are?"

Katie scrunched her nose. The man cosplaying as Lex Luthor in her mind laughed. "Do you know what this is?" He tapped the tattoo. She stayed silent.

"No. You wouldn't, would you? You don't know much. A world where the greatest minds are comic book characters. Where soul marks don't exist." Soul marks?, Katie mouthed to herself. "I almost feel sorry for you, honey. But at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter, does it? You're here for one reason and one reason only."

He ran his fingers through her messy hair. An alarm sounded in the distance.

"Let the games begin."

[callmearcturus]

okay so PC Gamer just scattered a bunch of catnip for me with an article about What If Each Fallout Game Were A Movie, Who Would Direct It and I am going to read this live and judge it

because I'm having a relapse, we all understand this

A focused, mature, pressure cooker of a movie that is short and stylishly violent? Better call the director of John Wick to take the directorial reigns. Personally, I find Leitch's movies tend to have rather underwhelming final acts, too, and also have a penchant for ending abruptly when you feel more could have followed, so he's the perfect fit for a game that's incredible until it very quickly ends without much fanfare. John Wick movies don't tend to be very wacky either, often depicting the hero's world as very serious (despite the ludicrous premise of the fiction), so again this feels a strong and apt choice for the OG Fallout. A Friday night action movie.

HMMMMMM. I feel like I disagree on the mode I would want FO1 to be in. Like, yes, you can play it that way, but FO1 is famously one of the first games to make Speech arguably the most important skill to have in a video game, so I dunno. I love Leitch and feel like while his sense of realistic-yet-stunning action is a trademark, I think the use of locations is even more of his thing, and when I think about memorable locations, I think more of FO2 than FO1.

I feel like I would give FO1 to some hyper-realistic scumbag who is more obsessed with Process than Enterta-- oh. Nolan. gdi I'd give FO1 to Chris fucking Nolan, him whomst I loathe.

Who better to direct this expansive and often wacky depiction of the Fallout universe than the director responsible for epics such as Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, 12 Monkeys, Brazil, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, and The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? Gilliam loves a good road trip in his work, too, which fits with Fallout 2's Highwayman-based exploration, and his penchant for vast vistas with wacky and absurd details feels perfect. The combat scenes wouldn't be as slick as Leitch's Fallout movie, but characterisation and a more rambling, philosophical, off-beat narrative would deliver. Plus, Fallout 2 even has a Bridge Keeper encounter that directly references Monty Python and the Holy Grail, in which Gilliam starred. Watch on a Saturday night for a bit of everything.

......... I straight up cannot argue with that. No notes.

For a movie based on a game that is focussed almost entirely on squad-based combat in urban environments, combat where soldiers die in terrible ways and the horrors of war are all too apparent, I feel the director of The Hurt Locker, Kathryn Bigelow is perfect for this. Fallout: Tactics would be a war movie with a very tight focus and strong characterisation for just a handul of lead characters. Tense and at times adrenaline-inducing due to the flashes of extreme violence, but interspersed with soul-searching dialogue from its grizzled, war-scarred leads, this would be an erudite and focused Fallout war movie. Watch on a Monday or Tuesday night.

Looking at Bigelow's list of works is how I just now learned she also did Strange Days, so I think it's fair to say that this is giving her way too small of a pick. Give her FO1 and give Leitch FOT.

It would be so bad. Forget about A-bombs, everyone in the movie would drop an F-bomb every other line. Don't watch on any night.

Fucking weak-ass pick. Think about the history of how FO:BoS happened, i.e. they were trying to slap the Fallout license onto a completely different style of game without any respect for the source material. They swapped out Nuka Cola for Bawls product placement.

Give it to Zack Synder.

As the game that properly introduced V.A.T.S. system slow-mo to the Fallout universe, with kill shots shown off in glorious bullet time, there can be only one director for a film version of Fallout 3: the master himself, John Woo. Woo's stellar action movie work in titles such as Hard Boiled, Broken Arrow, Face/Off and Mission Impossible 2, among others, means the action in this game is off the charts. Slow-mo radiated doves and all! Woo handles the post-apocalypse war vibes well, too, thanks to his work on Windtalkers, while he communicates the hero's awakening into the future thanks to previous on Paycheck. A good fit for Friday night, thanks to the action, or midday during the weekend due to a longish, war movie-style runtime.

.....................

holy shit i cannot argue with that, that's genius. absolutely fucking yes. i think that's a perfect fit.

also, like, FO3 and Woo have the same "problem" for me, in that they know exactly what they are doing, it's just not my cup of tea, but there is a solid identity there.

yeah, fucking do it, give FO3 to John Woo.

SHUT THE FUCK UP

WHO WROTE THIS ARTICLE, AND DID THEY WRITE IT FROM MY FUCKING ATTIC?!

Casinos, gritty environments, extreme violence and heist movie vibes mean I think of Guy Ritchie for this film adaptation. Ritchie's also a fan of slow-mo combat shots, too, so we've got the game's V.A.T.S. system represented well, too, while the game's macho factional warfare as undertaken by factions like Caesar's Legion and the NCR, is right in keeping with Ritchie's love of gang-based conflict. There's not much romance in New Vegas, either, which is a weak spot for Ritchie, but as shown in movies like Sherlock Holmes, Snatch, The Gentleman, and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, he's good at holding together movies with various interconnecting narratives. His work on Aladdin also shows he can handle the comedic and wacky aspects of New Vegas, too. A mid-week action-comedy treat.

/rubs face

I am unfortunately a massive fucking fan of Ritchie movies. this is so powerful.

i think........... Ritchie is so thoroughly uninterested in saying anything philosophically profound, you cannot give him The Most Profound Fallout Game. like, I want to love this idea, I really do, but no.

....................... You need someone with snappy dialogue that actually means something, who is willing to veer into borderline magical realism, who loves an overdressed set, and who can manage a lot of different characters with well-reasoned motivations.

I think you need Rian Johnson.

OR DO I JUST WANT RIAN JOHNSON TO MAKE A VERSION OF "DEAD MONEY" THAT DOESN'T SUCK? WHO COULD SAY.

I feel Ang Lee is a good choice for a Fallout 4 movie adaptation, having good form in handling large and sprawling fictions with plenty of characters and side-stories. Just look at films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Life of Pi as an example of this. He's got some form with action, too, thanks to his work on Hulk. There's probably more romance/relationship offering in Fallout 4 than in any other Fallout, and Ang Lee has form here too. The result, though, is a movie that ends up being a bit flabby and unfocussed at times, despite technically bringing more to the table than Fallout 3, and being funnier and lighter overall. Watch on a day off due to a chonky runtime.

what are you fucking talking about, Ang Lee's best movies are Brokeback and Sense & Sensibility, and his worst are probably Hulk and Gemini Man. Fallout 4 is the one where Bethesda just stopped pretending to give a shit about story and roleplaying, instead pivoting the game into a skinner box of tightly-honed but ultimately soulless mechanics.

I'm not even trying to mock Marvel, but I feel like the MCU's Design-By-Producer-And-Executive-Oversight is actually the answer here. It doesn't matter who directs it because the main voice will be a board room.

oh shut upppppp

Fallout Shelter would in some ways be the most obvious setup for a movie: the self-contained story of a vault-dwelling society, interspersed with the surface adventures of random dwellers. Sounds a bit like the TV show when you put it like that, which is why there's only one Nolan for the job: Christopher! Yes, fresh off Oppenheimer it is time for Oppenheimer 2, focusing on the aftermath of all-out nuclear war (hell, Cillian Murphy can even have a cameo as a brain in a jar, I'm that generous). Moody, intense, riven with twists you didn't see coming, and with all special effects done for realsies, this movie could only ever be rad. The only downside is that, like the TV show Silo, you'd spend an awful lot of time indoors.

absolutely fucking not. the thing about Nolan is that his shit is so meticulous, it like.... pitches past hyper-realism and lands in this weird uncanny valley of "he wouldn't fucking say that" but it's for a character you've only known for ten minutes.

FO: Shelter is about emergent storytelling that feels almost accidental rather than arranged or scripted. you need someone who is hands-off the script but can capture a.... good moment..............

oh god, it's JJ Abrams, isn't it? god dammit. or, frankly? Spielberg. so I'm saying no to the director i hate and offering instead two other directors i dislike, but for different reasons.

yeah. yep. that's what i'm doing.

SPITTAKE

As an MMO that takes many aspects of the Fallout universe to the extreme, it feels a movie version of Fallout 76 would be akin to a huge-budget, climatic MCU movie where it really helps if you've had previous with the series to get most enjoyment. As such, I feel the Russo brothers would take the reigns for Fallout 76. The result would be a jack-of-all-trades action-adventure that borrows bits of every previous Fallout to make something that appeals to a lot of people but, after watching, doesn't go down as something you'd rewatch for most all of them. Big, bright, wacky and action-filled, there's no doubting though that you get a spectacle and fun, though. Watch in two sittings over two nights (as the movie's runtime is 3 hours 47 minutes).

no. fuck you. i reject your premise. the Fallout game that shipped with no NPCs and expected the story to be entirely conveyed by set-pieces, environmental design, and audiologs?

resurrect Tarkovsky and give us FO76, desolate and beautiful with environmental shots that last seven minutes without a cut. because the only good thing about FO76 is the setting, the amount of effort put into building the actual space, so I want 90 minutes of film and seven pages of script.

Russo Brothers, get tf out of here

[betabravo]

Snippet: Homeroom Miruko x Red Flag (Deus MHA AU) Part 4

Geez, this day could have gone better.

“I’m going for a walk.” That’s it, a walk. How the heck did it turn into this!

First mistake: She shouldn’t have announced it in the teacher’s dorm common room. She lives there now, sure. And it’s a step up from roaming and renting places. (Lunch Rush making a MEAN carrot soup was 100% a plus.) But instead of not caring about her co-workers (and the Rat King) like she normally would, she decided to let them know. Which resulted in Nezu and Aizawa catching her.

“As long as you’re going out, could you get some info about Aldera?” Pssh, like she could ignore a request from her current boss. Who already has a file of blackmail on her. (A thin one, but it was still blackmail. How the HECK did he find out she has regular spars with Rappa? He knows about the Table, but he agrees to help, so there’s that.) Rumi sighs, before turning to face them with her trademark smirk. “Am I looking out for anything in particular?”

Aizawa hums in thought, but decides to spill. “There’re 2 students applying for the Hero Course from there, but we found it strange as there was never a student there who have applied here, EVER.” And wasn’t THAT suspicious. The best Hero School this side of Japan, in the same prefecture even. Yet, not a single application before this year?

“Even more troubling, the transcripts the school sent us shows them having completely different records. Bakugou Katsuki having a pretty much perfect record, while Izuku Midoriya is a troublemaker.” Rumi frowns and narrows her eyes in thought. Where’s the other boot dropping? Everything sounds normal so far.

Nezu then clears his throat. (Ho boy, here it comes.) “The real problem is how in all the comments from the faculty basically praise Bakugou’s Quirk, and almost nothing else. Midoriya’s the direct opposite, saying that he starts fights, disrupts classes, blah blah blah… but places the most emphasis on how he’s Quirkless.”

Sounds like a school that only cares about powerful Quirks and nothing else, meaning any and all records from there can’t be taken seriously. So the only was to get info from there was to see thing for themselves. And since she just said that she’s “going for a walk”…

Crap.

///

First/Last/Next

Here's part 4 of my fic writing journey. If you're wondering what the Table is, it's from Mirrond's series. (No, it has nothing to do with John Wick... I think) Highly recommend reading it, but be warned, it goes through some hard topics. With dark AUs. And rare pairs.

[guttergirlcore]

East Coast Baby II (JJ Maybank x reader)

WARNINGS // NON-CON, DUB-CON, violence, possessive behavior, stalking, mentions of alcohol and drug use, jealousy, manipulation, toxicity, gaslighting, non-canon ages, pogue!reader, she/her reader, mentions of familial trauma, one bed trope, JJ watching reader as she sleeps, light somno at the end

MINORS DNI --> READ RESPONSIBLY

Synopsis // Running from a trauma-addled past, you arrive in OBX to find some peace. Shortly after, a series of strange events ensue, drawing your circle smaller and smaller, eventually driving you into the arms of one JJ Maybank. What you hadn't realized, however, is how difficult it would be to escape the one person you never thought you'd have to run from.

divider by @firefly-graphics​

Word count: 2k

~

You slowly blinked your heavy lids until your vision cleared enough to make out the dark wood of a ceiling.

"Hey, hey, she's awake guys!" Kie called over to the boys and suddenly your line of sight was obstructed by four looming heads.

"Ugh, fucking Rafe," you groaned, reaching for the back of your head.

"Fucking Rafe is right. He totally could've given you a concussion. I mean, I wanted to take you to a hospital, but dumbasses one and two here insisted on bringing you here," Pope stood with his hands on his hips.

You sat up quickly and JJ's hands shot up to steady you.

"Woah, woah. Easy, okay? You took kind of a hard hit." JJ looked into your eyes with genuine concern before turning a pointed glare in Pope's direction.

"You want her going to the hospital and when they ask how she got the injury- to tell them she was out at a kegger with about a hundred other people and then tried to get in the middle of a fight until you, Mr. Smartass, decided to pop off a stolen gun? That's what you want her to say, Pope?"

"Yeah, dude, it's not like we were checking IDs, and I'm pretty sure there were like twenty different drugs going around the beach tonight." John B. told Pope, his arms crossed across his chest.

“Stolen gun?” You murmured drowsily.

“It’s a long story,” JJ said apologetically before turning back to Pope.

"Okay well, all I'm saying is this could be more serious than we think! Structural damage and all that bro! In this one show I saw on Forensic Files, this body showed up to the morgue completely fine, but they ran the autopsy and found out the dude hemorrhaged in the brain from a minor hit!" Pope threw his hands up in the air.

"Okay, you did not see that," Kie argued, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, enough! Christ. Y/n will be fine as soon as all of you get out and let her relax," JJ shouted over the bickering pair.

In a huff, Kie, Pope, and John B. headed out onto the screened-in porch, leaving you and JJ alone.

"Where am I right now?" You asked, looking around at the messy wooded cabin.

"John B's. Thought it best if we take you here to rest," JJ said, kneeling down in front of you. "Y/n, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t think you’d get in the middle of it."

“Well, I did,” you fix JJ with a stoney look. “You do know that Rafe was just trying to get under your skin, right?”

“Yeah, I figured. But still, I wasn’t gonna let him touch you,” JJ said, completely serious.

“Why? Why do you care? You just met me.”

“Do I really have to answer that?” JJ furrowed his blond brows. “Because I like you, y/n. Is that not obvious?”

You blinked your eyes rapidly. “I- I like you too JJ, but like I said, we just met. I hardly know anything about you and vice versa.” You looked down at your lap, twisting your rings around your fingers.

“Okay, well tell me something about you,” JJ smiled, bracing a closed fist just a few inches from your knee on the couch.

You hesitated. You weren’t used to people asking about you, and you weren’t even sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you wanted to say anything at all. 

JJ was cute and seemed sweet. His friends were nice and he did get into a fistfight to protect your honor or whatever, which was kind of sweet in a marginally deranged way- but opening up to new people didn’t come easily to you. Sometimes you thought it was better to stay closed off to avoid the hurt.

You shook your head and averted your gaze from JJ’s disappointed face.

“Okay, well I’ll tell you something about me,” he said. He rocked back on his heels, planting his butt on the floor at your feet, his elbows resting on his raised knees.

“Ahh- let’s see. Alright, my favorite movie is C.H.U.D., the only book I’ve ever read and liked was The Outsiders, and I’m one hell of a surfer.” JJ laughed, counting off on his ringed fingers. “My favorite color is green, I like Zach Bryan’s music, and honestly, I’m not as calm and collected as I’d like everyone to believe.”

You looked up at JJ’s last admission, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, uh- so my mom split a long time ago. Or it feels that way anyway. My dad sucks, so there’s that. Sometimes I think he likes the bottle better than he does me. Actually, I don’t really think he likes me at all.”

“JJ, I-” You were at a loss for what to say. What could you say? Didn’t you know better than anyone that there was nothing you could say? Nothing could fix, or even alleviate, that type of pain. 

You gave up on words, instead reaching for JJ’s hand, rubbing your thumb over his bruising knuckles. JJ’s eyes softened at your gentleness. You nodded your head slowly, encouraging him to go on if he wanted.

“At least he isn’t around much, so I get to do what I want, which is better than Kie or Pope’s got it,” he chuckled dryly.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to sacrifice a father for freedom. I’m sorry that that happened to you, JJ. It’s not right, and you don’t deserve it.” 

You gazed into his blue eyes sadly. Though he wouldn’t let it on, you could see the suffering lingering in the depths of his eyes. It was the same suffering you held in your own.

JJ held your hand tightly as if it were a life-raft he could pull himself onto to keep himself from drowning in the sea of pain.

You rubbed harshly at your misting eyes and chuckled. You told him your favorite movie, show, and book, that you liked to paint, what your favorite color was, and what kind of music you listened to. You told him about your aunt Laura, and how you hardly knew her, and yet she was the closest familial bond you had. JJ listened intently the whole time.

“And as for the other stuff- the darker stuff... I want to tell you, JJ, I do. But I just have a really hard time opening up like that, you know?” You told him.

He nodded his head slowly and gave his characteristic smirk. “That’s alright. I’ve got time.”

After the two of you sat up talking on John B.’s couch for the rest of the night, JJ assured you that it would be okay if you crashed there.

“Really, I do it all the time y/n,” JJ laughed. “I’ll stay here with you.”

You sent Laura a text to let her know your plans and allowed JJ to take you to the spare room.

"I've got some extra clothes here if you wanna change," JJ pointed to the large wooden dresser.

You looked down at what you were wearing. It was still a bit damp and sandy from the beach, so you nodded your head in agreement.

JJ crossed the room and pulled out a cotton t-shirt from the drawer, placing it in your hands.

He stood there for a moment more with his hands in his pockets.

"Uh, JJ? Could you, you know...?" Motioning for him to give you some privacy.

"OH! Yeah, yeah, let me just-" JJ scurried to the door, pulling it closed with a quiet click behind him.

You pulled off your sandy top and bottoms, dropping them to the floor at your feet. Picking up JJ's shirt, you lifted it to your face.

The cotton was soft and worn and smelled like clean linens, surf wax, and the faint scent of sunscreen. The scent of JJ.

You slipped it over your body and called out to him.

He entered the room as you perched on the edge of the single bed.

"I can take the couch if you-" he started.

"No, no I don't want to take your bed from you! We can share it, it's plenty big enough for both of us," you smiled at him.

Secretly, you hoped he wouldn't refuse and you were pleased when he didn't.

~

You had fallen asleep hours ago as JJ sat up watching you peacefully doze next to him.

Despite his eyes burning painfully from lack of sleep, he couldn't bring himself to look away from you.

Here you were, so beautiful, so gentle, so trusting, and so thinly clothed.

JJ thought back to your conversation earlier on the couch. How kind you had been, even though you only met him yesterday. How you held his hand and comforted him, even though you had no obligation to. And now, how you laid here in his bed, in his clothes, mere inches from him.

Then, images of Rafe clouded his vision. Rafe's hand on your knee across the beach.

JJ hadn't meant to drift so far from you, but one of his friends called him and Pope over, and it was only a few yards. He figured you'd be okay for a few moments until he could return to your side.

But like he always seemed to do, Rafe appeared out of thin air, sticking his hands on things that didn't belong to him.

JJ shook his head. He had to remind himself you didn't belong to him either. At least not yet.

The [admittedly] very small rational part of him knew Rafe was just goading him on, but the rage was blinding and unexpected.

Who does Rafe think he is? He thinks he owns everything from Figure 8 to The Cut. And you. You're so pretty and defenseless. I need to protect you. I need Rafe to know you're mine.

JJ had crossed the few yards in a matter of seconds, his hands clamping down on Rafe's steam-pressed collared shirt. It was like he weighed nothing as JJ dragged him to the water, his inherited rage blooming in his chest. He stomped to the water's edge until it soaked through his boots, and then he just let himself go.

He threw punch after punch in Rafe's smug face. With each time his fist made contact, he was further gratified. That was until he saw you.

JJ hadn't even realized you'd followed him, but there you were, laying on your back in the sand, a light bruise already forming on your jaw. Rafe had hit you.

JJ wailed on him as hard as he could, pounding his fists into Rafe's chest as he spit blood back at him. It took Pope, John B., Topper, and Kelce to pull him off.

JJ found his anger returning to him and he braced a hand against his chest, pacing his breathing.

She's alright. She's alright. She's here, JJ reminded himself.

Sometimes his rage frightened him. It looked too much like his dad's. But he was better than him. What he did, he did for love. His dad just did it for fun, or whatever. That made him better, right?

JJ looked over at your sleeping form. Your back was turned to him and he watched as your side rose and fell with your breathing. He gazed over the curve of your ass and felt himself grow hard at the mere sight.

He couldn't have you tonight, he knew that. Still, he allowed himself to scoot slowly down the bed and closer to you.

When you hadn't moved, he pressed his body flush against yours, his face buried in your strawberry-scented hair, his hardening length fitted snugly against your ass.

He let out a soft groan at the contact. This would have to be enough for him for now.

The last thing he thought before he finally succumbed to sleep was

she will be mine.

~series masterlist~

[queerprayers]

I'm looking ahead to Lent right now, but I'm also thinking about the current season, and how for the longest time I didn't even consider this a season. The season "after Epiphany"—it doesn't even get its own name in my calendar. It seemed a mismatched muddle of feast days and readings, and Jesus ages 30 years in a month. It was nice to have a breather between Christmas and Lent, but that was all.

And yes, this is a green season, "ordinary time." A pastor I follow (can't remember who at the moment) pointed out that most of our years are spent in ordinary time, and most of us pray that this is true for our lives too—we ask for a rhythm of growing but not a grand narrative of historical events and life/death situations. "May you live in uninteresting times," goes the blessing. Perhaps it's because my life has been so full of life and death, but I have a hard time with the in-between growing. I get bored without dramatics.

Nevertheless, this year I'm processing the gift that this little green season is—and it's not boring, not at all! It starts with Epiphany—and what a great name for Three Kings' Day! A eureka moment, a breaking in, a sudden realization! Then Jesus is thirty and we have the Baptism. We read the wedding at Cana at some point; there's the conversion of St. Paul. Then the Presentation—Jesus is again a baby, so some whiplash there.

I know Catholics and many others have Transfiguration in August, but Lutherans have Transfiguration the last Sunday of this season, before Ash Wednesday. This makes sense timeline-wise, but only recently am I putting together a cohesive season for myself.

If Epiphany is a eureka moment, a breaking in, its season is one of miracles. Not the grand ones of Christmas or Easter, to be sure, but Jesus creeps in on us these few weeks. Breaking in but like a thief in the night. He's a child being worshiped by strangers, a boy playing in a childhood mostly skipped over, a man being baptized by his cousin from an apocalyptic desert cult while a bird-God breaks through the clouds, a guy at his friend's wedding negotiating with his mother and pleasing the guests but John calls it a manifestation of glory. And then for my church, the greatest manifestation since his birth, the breaking through of God into his person on a mountain with his best friends. His ancestors appearing in communion with him.

We have breaking in and through, manifestation, miracles, a strange timeline for a strange man. Foreigners, cousins, mother, best friends. So much unwritten and lost to time. And this is a season.

So I'm looking ahead to Lent, but I'm also honoring that we've made a season out of bits and pieces of glory—and bits and pieces are more than we could ever ask for. Before we enter the desert, we alternately bask in and are shocked by the glory around us. "Eureka" is an exclamation meaning "I found it"—in the story, Archimedes is so shocked by what he has found (the volume of irregular objects by seeing himself take up space in his bath) that he runs naked through the streets. In my opinion, this is a completely appropriate response to finding more of the world.

I said I get bored without dramatics, but what's more dramatic than God existing, manifesting, loving? The season "after Epiphany," post-realization. Growing in between life and death. Your whole life after this moment. I'm not saying flash your neighbors, but God is a whole world, breaking in, and you've found it. What are you gonna do about it?

[eliecasa]

warnings: mention of an attempted murder, suggestive, kinda abrupt ending

summary: before you got married, John had asked why you didn’t know your birthday. at the time, you couldn’t give him an answer but after a few years of pondering, you figured out what day you wanted it to be.

wrdcnt: 1.7K (maybe)

“Huh?” you dumbly blink, glancing between Laswell and Price. If you were being moved up a rank, that meant that you were seen as someone who was more skilled than everyone in the room and that was just more than bull. In response, the lady only nods with a proud grin on her face.

“Can’t say I expected you to excel ahead of me.” Soap folded his arms and chuckled. “Congrats Major, you’re the boss here.” Gaz gives you a lazy salut as Ghost merely nods. It’s not a sight for sore eyes but rather a sight to sore your eyes. “No way…”

The room quickly diverted into one that consisted of you asking questions and your teammates quickly answering them back with a sense of obviousness. You talk enough for you to thirst yourself and John is quick to notice, offering to go grab lunch with you. It takes a moment to convince you that you’re just overthinking it but it works at the mention of Italian sliders.

You walk with a slight sway in your step, prompting John to wrap an arm around your shoulders as the two of you turn into the canteen. “Reminds you of Urzikstan, doesn’t it?” you smile and roll your eyes. “Yes, I vaguely remember getting shot in the thigh, Captain, no need to blush.” He smiles, remembering how he had to carry you throughout the mission.

A hearty laugh escapes his chest and he finally let you stand for yourself one reaching the canteen. The clatter and chatter of the room is loud and bustling but the air between you two stayed still with a silence that begs to be broken. He thinks and thinks as you merely tilt your head, a conceited expression pinches your eyebrows together. “Having a hard time with me being Major, are you?”

His eyes finally tear from yours as he stammers and forces out a faint laugh, turning on his heels as he feigns interest in the environment around you. “No, I was just… making sure you’re not dizzy, that’s all.”

“Right.”

Teeth find your lip as you stifle a laugh. John was a solid and intelligent soldier but he was also just another man that acted as another other– besides the common douchebag trait that many of them shared. He could save your life but if you’re beautiful enough, he just may stutter and avoid your eyes afterwards. It was a trait that you noticed when you first joined and surprisingly, it never stopped. It tends to still happen at times like… now. The fact that you’re the reason that it still happens was beyond an ego boost. More-so a bonus in life.

“Hey–” he swivels, knocking you out of your daze and causing you to nod, prompting him to say what was on his mind. His arms cross and a curious look blends into his gruff features. “When I read your documents with ya’ I noticed something strange.”

“You calling me ugly?” you jest, punching him in the chest. He catches your hand, accidentally lacing your fingers together before your hands drop, leaving the moment to your imagination as he talks. “You’re gorgeous. But, you lack a birthday. Was that something you wanted to hide?”

Your eyebrows jump after hearing the word ‘birthday’.

“Well…no, I sadly don’t have a mysterious past like Simon Riley.”

The dramatic lightheadedness from earlier prompts you to settle a palm on the table. “Sit down, Y/N.” the man rounds you, reaching for your waist as you blush and allow it. Almost too gently, he settles you into a chair that he kicks out with his boot, smiling as you dramatically let out an old-timer grunt. “Thank you dear, you are just the sweetest.”

“Anytime.” he jests back, sitting across from you and crossing his arms on the small circle table. “So, what’s your deal?”

“I simply do not know my birthday.”

“...Why not?”

You shrug, blowing raspberries as you fall into thought. “Being an orphan all your life gets you nowhere and a wacky record.” He gives you a sympathetic nod and looks down at his hands, thinking of his next question. “No idea of your home country?”

In response, he gets a silent shake of your head. A long time ago, you were found on the dock of a fishermans property, seemingly unharmed and soundly as ever. Thankfully, whoever thought to abandon you was kind enough to drop you to a trusty person. Nobody is able to guess where you’re from and nobody would probably ever know. As for your birthday, you had your theories and assumptions. You were lucky enough to have a couple of friends in the forensics area of work that would humor you on what age you could be. They all said you were either (# close to price’s age) or (# farther from his age).

“Actually, I took a DNA test a couple years back.” He perks at your statement as you nod. “Yep, turns out I’m (...). Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm. Don’t be too jealous, you hear?” Blue and happy eyes follow your form as you stand to go get the food that you came for. But just as you were going to pass John, he called your name. You turn, a gentle look on your face.

“You should create a day for yourself… your birthday, I mean.”

A beat of silence stills the conversation but you’re back in motion, making your way back to the table. “How do you suggest I do it?”

“An anniversary. You’ve got memories, don’t ya’?”

Your lips part to tell him the truth but nothing comes out. You can only stand there with a tight look on your face. To say you’ve had a hard life would be an understatement. Maybe the happiest days for you are the ones that you’ve spent here with the man sitting down in front of you. But, you can’t tell him that so, you just nod and smile.

“Yes, Captain.”

3 YEARS LATER.

A car door slams, taking your attention away from the papers clasped in your hands. Knowing it could only be one person, you do your best to hurry to the side of the roof to see him. The roughness of the roof is loud and scrapes against your silky pajama pants as you kneel on the ledge, shouting down at the unknowing man.

“Hey!”

His head flies up in an instant, finding you gazing down at him with a dumb smile. The grocery bags in his hands drop to the black pavement as his lips part. “What are you doing up there, bambi?”

“It’s nice out, no reason to stay inside!”

The night ambience fills the beat of silence as he begins smiling at you, stupidly in love with everything that you do. Crickets chirp and the wind blows, wildly blowing your hair with the current as John bent down to retrieve the bags of food. “You know, you should’ve waited for me”

A guilty grin spreads over your face. Surely, you considered waiting a bit more until he’d be back with tonight's dinner but you’d been thinking about this for so long. It’s not like you haven’t been hinting at a surprise for the past week anyway. Saying little things like ‘I have something cool processing.’ and ‘You’re gonna regret eating my stuff in a week from now’ wasn’t the most subtle way to go around it but, you just couldn’t help yourself.

“No way! I have something to show you!”

“Really show me this time!”

“Promise!”

“Price.” he dares, playfully glaring at you from the ground.

“Babe, get your ass up here.”

He raises his hands. “Alright, alright, give me a second.”

The pair share a smirk before moving to meet at your bedroom balcony. He gets to the bedroom awfully quick, meaning that he didn’t even try putting the groceries away. Once he steps on the bench, you offer a hand to pull him up. Though he doesn’t need it, who is John to deny you the ego boost?

“Thank you, honey.”

“Of course, now, come on, I wanna show you.” You stand and walk to another part of the roof with his hand tight with yours. When there, he can see that you have two glasses of wine as well as the bottle sitting atop of a knitted blanket gifted by his mother.

That explains the stain, he thought while looking at the red splosh on the end of your pant leg. Instead of teasing you about your clumsiness, he made a sound of pleasant surprise, causing you to blush and dumbly grin. “What’s all this? Are you pregnant?”

“Yea right.”

He chuckled and pulled the two of you into a seat on the blanket. You fit comfortably between his legs and even sighed at the feeling of having him against you. Who knew that being with someone so consistently would never get tiring? From work partners to married lovers, and somehow not sick of each other yet.

“You remember back at headquarters? When I was promoted to Major?”

John hummed, rubbing the smooth skin of your arms up until one of his hands drifted to your shoulder and up to your neck. The heat that blooms across the skin he touches is enough to make you sigh and shiver. “Well…”

You stop talking but not on purpose.

His fingers wrap around your neck, rendering you silent as he pulls you tightly against his chest. It feels like summer when you raise your hand to palm his cheek, silently begging for him to keep up with the kisses that he presses against your jaw and cheek. A thought comes to mind but you’re unable to say it as he covers his mouth with yours in one slick motion. It doesn’t start off sweet nor did one of you even try to send that impression to one another. The taste of cheap wine melts on John’s tongue as it makes contact with yours, slick and slow, he kisses you. Your other hand gripped his knee through his jeans, bunching the fabric with a sense of urgency.

You can’t tell if you want him to keep going or to stop due to the amount of peering eyes that could come knocking on your door tomorrow morning. This neighborhood was extremely safe, which meant that there would be a neighborhood watch that always monitored and tracked everyone's moves. Sure, they mean no harm but man, could it become annoying?

Still, you allow a couple of more sensual swipes and kisses from his lips before wholly turning around without warning. He lingers but accepts it with a dramatic sigh that you can only giggle at. “You’ll have your time, but right now, check it out.”

His hand fell from your neck to grab the piece of paper that you slipped from underneath the blanket. “Your certificate?”

“Yea, big changes and shit.” you do a little dance before taking a generous sip of your wine.

Like a supportive husband always does, he laughs and rubs your shoulder a little bit before fully focusing on the paper. He’s quiet for a moment before a small ‘oh’ came out. “You got your nationality added.”

“Right? Keep looking.”

If you could, you’d probably be bouncing on your heels with excitement. Now, the crickets and the wind amplify in sound as your heart beats and beats against your ribcage.

“You… got a birthday added?”

and it momentarily stops.

“Yes.” you spin to sit on your knees, meeting the amusement in his blue eyes with just as much joy. Just as he was going to speak again, you tackle him into a hug and bursted into a fit of laughs and screeches. “Hold on, hold on, I didn’t get to see what day it was.”

“I chose (birthday)! I know you don’t remember what happened that day, but I do.” the smile on his face began to die at that last part. Guilt stabs at his chest and he frowns deeply. “I…”

“It’s okay, John.” you take your head off of his chest and trap his head in between your hands. “I wouldn’t have remembered if I didn’t write it down.”

His calloused palms find your thighs and his thumbs draw gentle circles on them. “What happened?”

“It was the day I got, this.” you pull the collar of your shirt, revealing a pitted and rigged scar that he was just rubbing on. It became a habit once the two of you got together and it always brought back a memory that just wasn’t the one that involved how you got the scar. It was always a random memory that you secretly held closely to your heart. Whether it be one of John or it be one of a random person taking care of you whilst you were an orphan— was not in your hands.

His silver-banded hand came up to brush over it, just barely hurting as you fully press his palm onto it. “I felt loved that day, you made me feel loved for once.”

“Y/N.”

“Out of all the people there, you were the only one that cared enough to come to the infirmary. I know you were just being a good teammate but I couldn’t help it…”

You trail off, shrugging in embarrassment as you recall your exact thought. “I thought you were handsome and I enjoyed the way you talked to me.”

Your eyes dart around his face for any sign of what he could be thinking but John only looks speechless and a little surprised. But then, the expression was quick to flicker into pure triumph.

“That was the day I knew I loved you.”

“WHAT?!” you squawk.

im like, so sorry for not posting💔 im stumped w life and i couldn’t finish my drafts but heEeeEy, i got this done!

[carica-ficus]

“Nona the Ninth”

20/07/2024

Reading progress: 477/477 (100%) Read through since last update: 203

The final stretch! Since I've had a free day yesterday, so I decided to binge the rest of the book and it was so worth it.

Alas, the final notes:

YEESSSS!!! RAGE!! TIME FOR VIOLENCE!!!!!

Hhhh Nona's meltdown is so freeing. There was SO much tension that has built up these last few days and she took it like a champ.

Ngl, I read that part as the frustration that comes out when you're finally done masking for so long. And I mean, Nona literally mentions it in the text too. That she's wearing a mask that looks like her face. Love to see it. It's comforting in a strange way. Mostly because I get it.

Fuck. Yeah, we learn about Earth's demise. We learn about the ways humans try to escape it. We learn about the consequences. But hearing John say that they needed to get the second wave of ships ready before the next round of climate starvation really hit. Humanity really is fucked. And not just in this book.

Not the fucking cows again.

Dying of curiosity. I mean... Is she wrong? (We'll see.)

Oh, fuck. It's not Ianthe's body.

This changes everything.

It changed nothing. Except that it might have made some things worse.

Of course it's Harrow's body. I did think that to myself somewhere in the middle of the book. Like - wouldn't it be SO funny if Harrow, who was always forced to calculate everything and be 3 steps ahead of everyone else, is replaced by Nona who depends on others to survive and has no idea what the fuck's happening? And there we all have it.

ALSO.

The storyline of Harrow working so much and trying to recover after all that grief and anger and sadness becoming a person that is going through recovery, who is loved and loves others, who is struggling so much to find herself, but doesn't know how to function on her own... It's such a powerful take on mental health and everything that comes along with trauma and recovery. This is such a good book.

Is it Gideon AGAIN???

That would be so fucking funny HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Okay. She's not. But it's so much worse! Hahahahaha 🙃🙃🙃

HSJDNDNJSKSKSKSKS PALAMEDES AND CAMILLA MY BELOVED ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

No pain meds. - Every pain medication you have, please.

AAAAAAA they're so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Oh, yeah. There it goes again. Is Nona hard of hearing? I didn't really think about this element that much, but it does appear several times. She can understand others and multiple languages only if she sees them speak.

Ok. That John chapter was something.

And I know he's a shitty guy. I do. But I get it.

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA not the Sixths doing math ALOUD in the Convoy to entertain themselves

Paul?

Sure, ok. Why not.

This kinda reminds me of that scene where Lapis (from Steven Universe) calls herself Bob during the baseball episode. Can't believe I remember that since I haven't watched the show in ages.

SUSS?????

THEN PERISH???

Okay, so much happened at the end that I just didn't want to put the book away in order to comment, so here's some thoughts at the end.

JOHN YOU DICKHEAD AAAAAAAAAAAAA

On the other hand, I am in LOVE with the way his character is written - from a perfect being to a selfish, deceitful and greedy man. I loved the way he captured Alecto. I love how he brought her into the tomb like a child, and she was in awe of everything he showed her. It's so raw. It's so sickening and repulsive and violating.

AND I LOVE that Alecto is basically the soul of the Earth. And I love that she is just a girl. That she just wants to live and love and be loved.

And that ending. AAAAA So cool. So so so so so cool. Love it.

I'm so happy I finally finished Nona. It is such a gorgeous book and I loved every bit of it. With each book I just fall more in love with the world and the characters, and I'm in awe of Muir's capability to make me appreciate every single character, no matter their background, morality or goals. Man, this story will stay with me for a long time, if not forever.

[emailsfromanactor]

John Gielgud on Romeo and Juliet, from a letter to Richard Sterne dated June 22, 1963, as quoted in Sir John Gielgud: A Life in Letters:

All thanks for your two letters. I am delighted to hear Ashland [Oregon Shakespeare Festival] is so much to your liking, and that you are to try a fall with Romeo. You will find the part a great challenge and often unsatisfactory, for Juliet has all the best positions in the text – the Banishment must not seem an anti-climax after her great cords scene – similarly the Mantua scene is hard to put over after the Potion – and the mourning. You only manage to beat her to it in the Tomb – and you will surely get a crick in the neck, while she queens it up on that damned balcony! Don’t let the director convince you that the love scenes are realistic. The ball scene meeting is a SONNET, the Balcony the epitome of longing and romantic imagination and ‘getting to know you’. The Wedding is the only scene when he really declares his most complete surrender to her (and she to him). The farewell is not a rough and tumble on the bed. It ought to be played on the same balcony as the other one – only they are worn out with the past night and the agony of parting – morning light, bleak despair = EPITHAL[AM]IUM – foreboding on both their parts which they try vainly to hide from each other. The evanescence of youth and passion – the hectic hopelessness of the moment they are both strangely aware of – then in the Mantua scene, he grows up in a single moment ‘Then I defy you, stars!’, he is suddenly a man and not a boy, no longer affected (Rosaline scene), not rash (encounter with Tybalt at the Ball and the Mercutio death). He has no sense of humour – he is a doomed young madman (but must not be too conscious of it himself!). In the tomb he is tired again suddenly – (the effort of control when he heard the news of her death, the long ride from Mantua to Venice, the blind rage as he kills Paris) and, marvellously, he shivers in the cold silence and dimness (just as SHE described it in the Potion scene) and he promises to stay there and look after her in that icy stillness. SIMPLE. (I only found this extraordinary truth in doing the death speech by itself out of context in the Recital.) It is a wonderful part. I know how to play it well now, but I could never convey it on the stage. Olivier was Romeo (though he couldn’t speak it in those days) because he was absolutely the lover of all time in the way he looked at Juliet and leaned against the balcony, and flung himself on Tybalt, but he was VULGAR in the farewell because he insisted on lying on top of Juliet and giving a physical violence in the love scenes which Shakespeare could not have imagined (or risked) with his boy Juliet! The words must do it. But they must give you a beautiful SIMPLE costume, and every help with wig and make-up. The first entrance – from a distance – is very important for the first impression, and grace of manner and deportment must be blended to a feline sensuality and sudden violence at a few important moments. You need to relax with a Latin indolence, but always with an underlying athleticism and a power that is ready to strike – like a flame – in the moments of fury and expressed emotion. So full of feeling at one moment – and an emptiness at others for contrast – the utter spontaneity which Latin people have when they are very attractive – and very young!

You can see why Sterne thought it would be worthwhile to record Hamlet rehearsals. Read all about those with Emails from an Actor!

[davekat-sucks]

If there's one thing i don't like about this fandom it's how much they make the kids more meaner? Villainizing? Than they actually are. Don't get me wrong, they have done a lot of bad but like these characters are FRIENDS. They do genuinely care about eachother in the end they aren't cold hearted and revel in other's suffering, they aren't Caliborn or Vriska afterall. I think they read the comic wrong, the kids were willing to sacrifice their own lives for eachother, a prime example of this was Daves conversation with doomed Rose. I blame the spaceship meteor part of the story for ruining the characters. Like everyone acted so ooc? Why were Jade and Davesprite giving John such a hard time about his dad die dying? Both of them literally had to watch their guardians die in front of them, you'd think they'd be the most sympathetic here? Or how Dave and Karkat, characters who will go through lengths to protect their friends just fucking stand there as everyone else tears themselves or eachother apart? Karkat is an ass yes but this was the same guy who was crying his heart out when he saw Solluxs dead body when in game or how he told Aradia bot that he would've tried to get her back to life if it weren't for other circumstances. Why was everyone being so uncaring at this part? It didn't feel right. The alpha kids got it the WORST, from bad writing to fandom treatment. I remember back in the day seeing stuff where Dirk was just down right mean to Jane "hahaha sucks to be you Jake is mine fat bitch". There was even a little bit of this aggressiveness in House of Dirk, now i do find that story fun but the small part where he calls Jane "xenophobic", bothered me. Like he would NOT say that to her. Have you seen how he speaks to her? "If you ever need help, Jane. If you're ever in any trouble at all. Let me know. Just say the word." Same guy who built a robot to protect her life and pretty much wrote an entire book for her, i think Dirk cares about Jane guys. This fandom and comic is so mean to Jane, as funny as i thought it was that Caliborn called her a fat fucking pig and cow, she really just became a punching box at that point. They'll shit on her because she's a woman getting in the way of the gay men. The ONLY thing people get from her as a character is that she's fat, because Caliborn said so along with a bunch of other things. Jake, poor Jake, gets sexualized by everyone he knows and had to burn his Grandmothers body right in front of him. But according to fans HE'S the asshole here because he cant communicate properly. Gee i wonder why. Roxy gets put on a fucking pedestal by the comic and fans, super extra special treatment. Ignore how she sexually harasses Dirk or almost killed Jane, no she's incapable of doing wrong, isn't that right Calliope? Yes, Roxy should be the new leader AND kill the Condescension yes. Now i never finished reading the epilogues because why would i? I'm probably missing a lot if we're taking them into consideration but not taking it into consideration because my point still stands because thats how the fandom treated them even before those came out. And even when talking about the base comic i still see those attitudes.

These characters DO have their personal problems but when people talk about they insert angst where it doesn't exist for favor of projection and i hate how common its become.

If people claim it is just cynicism that comes with growing up, there's clearly a difference between being cynicism, nihilism, and being a straight up asshole. If people say it is Dave and Karkat's depression is the reason why they stand around doing nothing as Rose becomes alcoholic and Terezi gets abused by Gamzee, it's sure strange they got over their depression right as VRISKA comes in to solve everything and those two bastards act like nothing had happened. Everything by Act 6 and Post Retcon just made all the characters worse. They have become an empty shell of who they used to be. The bleak outlook has become a theme for current Homestuck. It's been like this for Epilogues and Homestuck^2 too. I don't know if James Roach and HICU can really save the franchise and get out of all the characters having this negative light. Andrew Hussie and WhatPumpkin has shoved this jaded feeling right in the audience's faces that it's become the norm to expect the worse. Readers expect characters being assholes and more depression, they will receive it because Hussie and WhatPumpkin made it so.

[zilabee]

A meme about my fic, believe me when I tell you. This is one of those question lists for ask memes, but I don't believe in that, I am just answering the questions I have an answer to and I've combined a couple of memes into one to get rid of the questions I don't understand.

1: What inspired you to write this fic?

It was a kink meme prompt, so that prompted me. And it's a lovely thing anyway, the idea of John finding lyrics with his name in, but the prompter specifically said that they have a 'heart to heart' and I was immediately enamoured at how ridiculously hilarious it would be trying to have a heart to heart with Paul McCartney about what his song might actually mean. Reading The Lyrics I had spent a lot of time trying to work out Paul's head, and wondering how much he actually believes that the long and winding road is about a road, you know, and what he really means by that, what level he's on with anything he says, so I wanted to write a fic looking at that anyway.

2: What’s your favourite line of dialogue?

"You kissed me." "I know." "But you're not..." Paul says. "I mean we're not..." "I think we might be, Paul."

3: What’s your favourite line of narration?

"Paul kisses him and then kisses him again, and it's such a relief. It's the first thing that's made sense all day. It's the first thing that's made sense for years."

4: What scene (or line) did you first put down? Did you plan it out, or write as you go?

As ever, I wrote the first bit first! Dull but true. And I wrote it as I went, which is always how I write, even if there are going to be chapters which there weren't with this one. I have the vaguest idea of the shape/length of the thing when I start, and then I just write a bit and see what comes next. Saying that, it's a terrible way to write, I tie myself in knots and have to do a lot of rearranging, and I'm not saying it's best, it's just the only way I can do it. I suppose it's like I wrote it by writing down EVERYTHING they might say to each other, and then carving out the bits that made sense.

5: Was it easy or hard to write? Which part was most difficult?

It was okay. I kept hitting dead ends trying to make the conversation flow even a little bit from one thing to another, so there was a lot of moving it about, but it didn't feel difficult until I got to the bit after the kiss. That stalled me for ages because I didn't know how much they really needed to say or if it felt rushed. I still think it does feel a little bit rushed, but also I don't care. I kind of sided with Paul that as soon as they'd kissed it was more important for them to fuck than to actually dig into anything about how they felt or what they wanted or how it was going to work or what any of it meant. Mostly because I think the moment they talk about what they want it's all going to be very difficult again and I didn't want to be involved.

6. How did you choose the POV to write from?

I knew this one would be from Paul's POV because I wanted to get inside the way he thinks about lyrics and songs and try to feel it out as a thing he's genuinely feeling, not something he's aware is defensive, not something where he actually deep down knows that putting John's name in his song means something and just doesn't want to say so, but where he genuinely feels it's perfectly normal and John's being weird about it. (Although then with a slight sense of nervousness when he first sees the lyrics, as if there's something deeper inside him that knows it needs to be hidden?)

I thought about slipping between that and John's POV to really get across how used to Paul's strange thought patterns he was, and how he had to puzzle it all together, but in the end I found it more interesting to try and have Paul show how John was responding and hoping it was clear what John was actually feeling compared to what Paul thought he was thinking.

7. Did you always know how it would end?

I knew it was going to be happy and together, because that's always my aim. And then quite early on the bit of dialogue with John promising to tell Paul which of his own songs are about Paul, came to me and I love the idea of Paul's insides collapsing like a house of cards at the very idea of it, so I worked towards that.

8: Where did the title come from?

The song! I love having a musical fandom, where you just write about a specific song and it makes titling a breeze. (Saying that I'm not sure the title suits.) (But then, saying that, I don't care. The title exists, and that's all I look for in a title.)

9: Were there any particular lines or scenes which you had to cut despite wanting to keep them?

Not as much in this fic as in longer fics with more than one scene in them, but there was this bit, which isn't much on its own, but I quite liked when it was in place because it created a very definite shift in tension and they were both suddenly right there in their skin:

"Is that what's happening?" John asks, his voice low, a rasp in his throat. "Are we losing the whole thing?" "I think so," Paul says lightly, and he wants to say more, but his throat closes up.

10: What do you like best about this fic?

I like it when Paul just says something totally open and honest without noticing it and John quietly looks at him. Like when Paul's all 'I put your name into all my songs, it doesn't MEAN anything' and John has to just stare for a bit. I like that Paul feels like he has won that point and that John must realise he was being silly. I love Paul. I love that he's stupid.

11: What do you like least about this fic?

I find their voices very hard, so writing a fic of total dialogue was not a good look for me. And I feel like I concentrated a lot on the 'begging you to stay' aspect of oh!darling and maybe some of the 'I'll never let you down/do you any harm' bits would have also been quite interesting to John.

12: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

I have absolutely no musical associations with this one. I didn't even listen to the song itself.

13: What happens after the end of this fic?

Obviously very lovely things happen in the immediate aftermath. And I do think that being able to touch and kiss and fuck John would suddenly push Paul into boyfriend mode, and he is more capable of being loving in that mode, it gives him permission to be softer, and I think it might blow John's mind and they might be good for each other, I don't know.

I also feel firmly that one morning in a couple of weeks, Paul will mention that he dreamed about kissing John, and casually say that usually when he has that dream they're at the studio, but this time they were at home. And John will stare at him with exasperated fondness and quietly ask him how often he dreams about kissing him, and if he ever thought about what that might mean, and Paul will wrinkle his nose because he dreams about kissing John all the time, and obviously it doesn't MEAN anything, because dreams aren't real.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

NO.

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

NOTHING.

[collinnmckinley]

⚠️MWIII CAMPAIGN THEORY⚠️

read this with the dead sea amount of salt.

OKAY SO, today me and @cssndra-cain were discussing the video Inkslasher had posted just a couple of hours ago, and in it he said something that made us holt every single thought we had for the MWIII campaign so far. 

firstly lets talk about the gameplay trailer, in it we see; a group of soldiers stealthily infiltrate a prison; gulag if you will (I’m pretty sure it is THE gulag but take it as you will), and during the mission we hear several voices and one of them we can recognize as Gaz, and someone else that sounded like Soap maybe? from the BRAVO team that was landing with parachutes. and maybe a new character that could be Roach? (we could only hope). also there were American accents as well. knowing the history this is a stretch but there was someone (maybe I was tripping because I'm in Warren Kole fever but) who sounded like Graves. I could 100% be wrong and i'll take it like a champ don't worry. But! @cssndra-cain brought to my attention that, during the whole mission, we don’t hear Price ONCE.

put your tinfoil hat on

it’s a bit strange isn’t it? we go on this big ass, stealth mission like that, without hearing Price once? we know Price LOVES to do these kind of missions first hand, he's not the type to sit still back in HQ and give orders. Something is not adding up...

now back to Inkslasher’s video, just bare with me a little. don’t worry I'm getting to my theory soon. he was talking about the intro mission gameplay we saw yesterday at gamescom ONL. and in video he says that the "rescue" team that we, as players, are not 141, but an elite PMC that is holding a nighttime raid at Koni held prison. People who participated in the unknown caller easter egg couple of weeks ago, received another text yesterday stating this;

he was thinking, maybe it's not 141 but shadow company because of the "PMC" in the text. it could be shadow company but, we've learned that they are not the best at doing their job properly and how incompetent they can be. (we've seen how Shadow Siege event went.. yikes)

but what I think is will be at the end, continue reading if you want to know ;)

since it is a Koni base, and a prison, that means it is not Makarov (who is the leader) that is held in the prison. why would he be held in his own prison? and why would we go to rescue him? it does look like a rescue mission because, it's a Koni base and prison, we see the player killing Koni soldiers and they speak Russian. they are definitely the enemy.

here comes the twist, who is being held in that prison, and the elite PMC trying to “rescue”, is none other than our beloved captain John Price. Hence the mission name being Operation 627. now if you didn’t know this before, 627 is John Price’s prisoner number, from when he was held captive in the gulag during OG MW2. 

Screenshot taken from the wiki.

also Barry, being the sneaky bastard he is, posted this in his story yesterday :)

i hate him (affectionately)

now based on everything above, it got me thinking REAL hard. Just to be clear, this is just my theory, nothing solid or confirmed, a mere THEORY, that resulted after taking in all the info we got today and yesterday and talking with @cssndra-cain.

in MWIII we will be playing as 141, that is 100%. But it will be half flashback and half present time. Now how did Price get captured to begin with? That is, what I believe, what we will be discovering during the campaign. And we will be playing it until Price is captured and saved. Then from there on we will continue the hunt for Makarov with Price back as our captain. 

and the rescue team in the Operation 627, are indeed 141, but they are collaborating with shadow company or maybe they made their own PMC, who the fuck knows. all I know is that, I hear Soap, Gaz and Graves. it's a mess of a theory but it's something.

there is a lot of shit going on in my mind, and this is what I barely managed to write down cause I can't find the words. If my vocabulary wasn’t so fucked up because of my adhd I’m sure I would’ve written a longer well put theory.

NOW, if I am wrong, I will swallow my words 100% and wear a clown wig for a week playing this campaign. ultimately there's no harm done tbh.

BUT! If you choose to believe this theory, then it’s your own fault lol. Don’t get your hopes up, because this is not a leak or from Activision themselves.

this is me to Mari trying to explain my theory to her lol